Spook
by SpiritedYoungLady
Summary: When investigating a string of unusual murders for a friend, Sam and Dean run into a new kind of trouble: FBI agents who know their stuff. Teen, for mild language/sexual content. Reviews appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey, sleeping beauty." Sam Winchester yanked away the blankets, laughing as his brother pulled a pillow over his head and snatched at the sheets. "Time for work."

Dean squinted at the clock. "What the hell, Sam? It's 3AM," he said through the pillow.

"That woman in Milford texted me back and she says she can meet today before work. She leaves at seven, so we've only got two hours to get there. "I'll drive if you want."

"Not necessary," said Dean through the pillow. He flopped over the side of the bed rummaged through his bag, half covered with the hotel quilt. "You're sure it couldn't wait till she's off duty." He grabbed a razor and a can of shaving cream and stumbled towards the bathroom, mumbling curses.

"It's strange, this monster. I'll tell you on the way. Wait." He kicked open the bathroom door. "You're shaving? At 3AM?" said Sam.

"Hey!" Dean slapped the cheek that wasn't swamped with lather. "One of us has to clean up for the lady."

For once, Sam was grateful for Metallica at five in the morning. He pulled his fingers through his hair, trying to tease down the puff on one side. "You want coffee?" Dean gestured towards one of the Dunkin' Donuts that popped up over the Northeast like weeds in the sidewalk. When Sam didn't reply, Dean playfully leaned over to punch his brother's arm. "How about a beer?"

"Coffee. Coffee sounds good."

They stood in line with handful of other souls seeking caffinated comfort on a -10 degree morning.

"Whatever this is, it had better be good. I can't stand the coffee around here."

"Well," said Sam. "I can't promise anything. Honestly, I haven't got a clue what it is-that's why I wanted to catch the witness this morning, ASAP. It kills like nothing I've ever heard of before."

"Kills? Who's died?"

The barista cleared her throat loudly.

"Sorry?" said Sam.

"Coffee?" said the barrista.

"Right," said Sam, and ordered his with extra espresso. On a whim, he ordered an extra coffee, plain, for the road.

"Two people died last week on different sides of the town. They all bled to death, with their faces sliced off. No pattern in any of the killings except the location."

"Sounds like a crackhead to me," said Dean after he placed his order.

"Nope. Crackheads don't walk through walls."

"Great. I've got a headache already."

In contrast to the supernatural murders they were investigating, the house Dean pulled up in front of was a saccharine-dipped postcard. It was sunk in snow up to the first floor windows so the Christmas wreaths, nearly picked clean of berries, seemed to perch on top of the snowdrifts. The long walkway was blanketed from the flurries the night before, but although the snow was still falling, two pairs of foot prints trailed from across the street to the door.

"Are you meeting someone?" Dean said.

"What?"

Dean pulled up a little further and pointed. "See, two sets of footprints."

Sam just shrugged.

"Maybe a couple of early-rising Jehovah's Witnesses?"

"Let's find out."

Sam grabbed the extra coffee, now cool enough to drink, and braced himself against the icy New England wind. He followed the footprints, one man's and one woman's, up to the door, where he could a hear quiet conversation.

"Katharine?" he called, tapping on the window.

The murmurs stopped and a freckled woman in a pantsuit and cat-eye glasses soon came to the door.

"Are you Sam?" she said.

"Yes," said Sam, "and this is my brother, Dean."

"Come in before you get frostbite. Shoes off, please."

As Sam and Dean tugged off their boots, Katharine glanced towards the kitchen, then leaned in and whispered, "I've got unexpected company. I hope you don't mind-anyway, they're interested in the same thing you are."

Hunters? mouthed Dean.

"People like us, you mean?" Sam said.

Katharine shook her head and her earrings shuddered ferociously. "FBI," she whispered.

Dean straightened his collar and cleared his throat. "Sam, a word?"

Sam looked from the drink in his hand to Katharine and back again to the drink. "I brought you coffee for your help," he said. "I can't really make up for the FBI agents."

Dean gestured to the hall next to the mudroom.

"First," said Dean, "What is with the coffee?"

"What do you mean 'what's with the coffee?' It's a kind gesture for a witness who agrees to meet us before a 16 hour work day," Sam said in a loud whisper.

"Not because I shaved this morning and you didn't?"

"What is this really about, Dean?"

"Did you hear your little lady friend? There are FBI agents within shooting distance. We've got to get the hell out of town."

"We're not doing anything illegal," Sam said. "We can look around, nothing fancy, and lay low until they leave."

"It's not worth it," said Dean.

"Can I help you?" said a woman with a lower voice than Katharine.

Sam saw Dean's hand flinch towards his pistol. Slowly, they turned around.

The woman wore a buisness suit and red hair in a bob. She stood stood between the hall and Katharine's kitchen, hands on hips.

"We're friends of Katharine's," Sam offered.

"We have an...interest in the paranormal, and she gave us a call a few days ago," Dean said.

"Paranormal?" A man in a dark suit broke off his interview with Katharine to join the woman. Katharine, clearly unaccustomed to dealing with law enforcement, hovered nervously in the kitchen.

"I'm sure there's a perfectly mundane explanation for the recent murders, and that's what we're here to find," said the red-haired woman. "I'm agent Scully and this is agent Mulder. FBI."

"Dean and Sam Hammett," Dean said. "So, why are the feds involved with a state murder case?"

"We're here for the same reason you are," said Mulder. "Evidence of a paranormal crime."

"And although we appreciate your efforts, as this is a federal investigation, we'll have to ask you to leave now," said Scully.

"No, wait," said Katharine, moving out of the kitchen. "They stay. They came all the way from who-knows-where to look into this for me."

"Mrs. Collins-" started Mulder, but Katharine raised an eyebrow.

"They stay, or you leave."

Note: Your thoughts are appreciated! I'll try to update weekly. Also, every time I read it again I manage to spot another typo or style issue. If you spot one, kindly point it out for me and I'll fix that bastard. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Scully and Mulder glanced at each other, searching for consensus. Eventually, Scully shrugged. "Alright, ma'am," she said. "As long as they don't hinder the investigation."

Scully was miffed. They were only on the first witness, and this investigation was deep in the grey area of FBI protocol. Even worse, it was barely seven in the morning.

"Look," Katharine said, "I've got to get to work, unless you want to wait a few hours for an interview."

"Of course," Mulder said. "The sheriff told us that you were the only witness to the Elie Donahue incident. Can you describe exactly what you saw?"

Katharine's friends squeezed into the kitchen next to Scully and Mulder. This kind of civilian interference would make for one hell of a tricky report.

"I was walking my dog a two nights ago, and I went by the Donahue's house, like usual. The Donahues have two kids, Elie and Ethan, and they usually stay up after dark to spend time as a family. But this last time, the lights were off." Katharine took a sip of her coffee. "Thanks for this, by the way."

"No problem," said Sam. As Katharine continued talking, Scully caught Sam nudge his brother and wink.

"Did anything else seem strange to you?" Scully asked.

"Something was growling in their yard, but I couldn't tell what it was because of the fence."

"Do they have any pets?" Dean said.

"No, and that was the strange thing." Katharine scooped up her pomeranian as it wandered by. "Pepper here loves other dogs, too, never met one she didn't like, but she was terrified."

"That's usually a bad sign." Mulder frowned. "What did you do next?"

"I looked over the fence and saw this huge black...mass. It was dark, but I can tell you for sure it didn't look like an animal."

"Then what did it look like, ma'am?" said Scully.

"Bees, maybe. Or tentacles. It was like a swarm, and it was growling so loud I didn't hear Elie screaming at first."

"It was swarming Elie?" said Sam.  
>Katharine nodded.<p>

"Is that when you called the police?" Mulder asked.

"No. I shined my flashlight at it but it didn't seem to notice, so I jumped the fence and ran at it."

"You what?" said Dean.  
>"It may have been the stupidest thing I ever did," Katharine said, shrugging, "but it saved Elie's life."<p>

"So you saw what was attacking her, then?" said Scully.

Katharine shrugged. "Well, sure, but I haven't the faintest clue what it could have been. By the way," she said, leaning on the counter and gesturing to her little audience with her coffee cup, "May I ask why the FBI is involved?"

"Mrs. Collins, three other people across Southeastern Massachusetts have died in similar incidents in the past two days. We've worked out an agreement with the press to hold the news for a few days until we could interview the chief witnesses."

Katharine set down her coffee cup, now paler than she had been.

"Wait, Katharine-you didn't know that?" said Sam.

Katharine shook her head. "No. How did you?"  
>"I, uh, heard it from unofficial sources."<p>

Dean, who Scully had pegged as the nervous one, deflected a potentially uncomfortable line of questioning by directing a question at Scully. "How did the victims die?"

"Cardiac arrest, it appears, although they all had strange discoloration on their chests," said Scully. "But I'm sure you knew that already, Sam."

"You telling me they died of fear and a few bruises?" Dean said.

"I'm not sure yet. I haven't conducted an autopsy, I only have the coroner's reports as of now."

Katharine cleared her throat and set Pepper down. "Look, thank you for coming out, but I need to let the dog out before work..."

"Of course," said Sam. Katharine shook hands with the FBI agents and escorted her visitors to the door.

"I need a minute with the older brother," Mulder whispered to Scully. "Keep the younger one occupied."

Scully nodded discreetly.

"It's Sam, right?" she said. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

On the porch, Mulder grabbed Dean's shoulder.

"Woah, slow down there!"

"I know you, Dean," said Mulder, voice calm and even. "Dean Winchester, isn't it? You're wanted for murder in two states."

"Woah, now," said Dean, eyeing the quickest route to his car. "Let me explain that."

"You don't have to." Mulder, casually blocking the stairs. "Here's what we're going to do. You find anything, you call me. Consider this your plea bargain," he said as he handed Dean his card. "If you help us clear this file with no more casualties, your name disappears off of FBI records."

"Like I believe that," said Dean, shoving the crumpled business card in his jacket pocket. "Sammy, let's head." Sam stumbled out of the house, still tying one of his shoes, and Scully followed.

"Think about it," said Mulder.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

"What was that all about?" asked Sam, rubbing his hands along his jeans in an effort to thaw them.

"Nothing."

"Yeah, right."  
>"Ok, he asked for our help."<p>

"Wait. Really?"

Dean started the car and turned on the radio. Metallica blasted through the impala's antiquated speakers.

"More like demanded it, but yeah."

"So what are you gonna do?" said Sam.

Dean drew the crumpled business card out of his pocket and tossed it to Sam. "Call 'em when we get news."

"Ok, just a few minutes ago you were saying we should get out of town. Now you want to help these guys?"

Dean shrugged. "Can't man change his mind?"

Sam rolled his eyes and finished the last chilled drops of his coffee.

"So, you got another witness or what?" said Dean.

"Not quite. Turn at that light up there," said Sam, pointing. "Katharine gave me the address of Elie's home."

Scully slumped in the the passenger's seat of the black rental and rubbed her forehead.

"This had better be good, Mulder."

"Have you ever read anything by an author called-"

"Come on, Mulder, you know what I'm talking about. You made a deal back there."

Mulder shrugged, started the car. "Dean will call me if they come up with anything."

Scully scowled. "I hope you know what you're doing."  
>Mulder put the car in reverse and turned the car back south, back where they had come from.<p>

"Where are we going, Mulder? I thought I told you I need to be to the morgue by three."

"You did tell me and you will be there," said Mulder. "But first, the library."

"This is the place?" Dean slammed the car door and slid across the street, trying not to topple over.

"Should I get the EMF meter?" said Sam, still in the car.

"MIght as well, but I don't think we'll need it," said Dean. "I have a hunch we're not dealing with something strictly supernatural here."

"What, then?" said Sam. "A regular monster? Were-octopus? Hyper-intelligent swarm of bees?"

"Not sure."

Sam shrugged and scooped up the EMF then skidded after Dean. "This is just suicide waiting to happen," he said. "Don't they de-ice or something?"

Dean scanned the street before vaulting the fence and Sam followed, dragging the EMF meter and a camera with him.

Half way across the yard Dean jerked back, as if he had almost stepped on a nail. He knelt by a clear patch in the snow.

Sam came closer, trying to keep the snow from accumulating in the tops of his shoes. The EMF in his hand oscillated violently-it maxed out, then plunged to zero, and then finally flew back to red and hovered there, refusing to budge.

"I've never seen it do this before. Here, come look."

Dean gestured to Sam without turning around. "No, me first."

The snow was nearly eight inches thick across the rest of the yard, but here was a perfect circle of melted snow. Instead of the ever-green New England grass, the spot was black and muddy and reeked of...

"Sulfur?"

"And something dead."

Sam brought the EMF closer, and again it flew from deep in the red to zero and then back to red again. "That one's brand new," said Dean.

"You try it, then." Dean fumbled around with the little machine, fingers stiff from the cold. He smacked it against his palm, tried flicking it on and off again, but the anomalous readings continued.

"I don't think it's a bug," said Dean. "Maybe it's finally met its match."

"Let's come back later," said Sam, caution in his eyes. Dean scanned the yard, trying to spot what what made Sam edgy, but the white-covered suburban street was peaceful and nothing moved in the deep snow.

Three blocks away and safe in the Impala's shotgun seat, Sam still seemed nervous.

"What's wrong, Sam?"  
>"You've heard of the Bermuda Triangle, right?"<p>

"Sure. Why?"

"Heard of the Bridgewater triangle?" Sam jerked upright and pointed right. "That's the turn," he said. The Impala skidded around the curve like a drunken ice skater.

"Bridgewater triangle? Nope. What's that?"

"Same idea, and we're in it. UFO's, bigfoot, ghost lights, Satanic rituals, ancient curses, H. P. Lovecraft settings, the whole shabang."

"That stuff was real?"

"Some of it, yeah," said Sam.

"So...what? How does this help us?" Dean turned a hard left, barely missing a garbage truck in the other lane.

"It doesn't," said Sam. "It makes it harder. It means there's something big here."


End file.
